FBI
by Zarak342
Summary: G1 AU. Robert Bee never did like his name. He had as small realized how troublesome it could be. But now, in his new workplace, he found other people with odd names. Like the man in Public Affairs called Joe Bazz... Transformers chars as humans. R
1. The Bee

**FBI**

Author:** Zarak342**

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, I just entertain myself and the readers with the characters.

Characters: Mostly everyone – focus on Bumblebee, Jazz and Cliffjumper.

A/N: I know I should probably work on Blood Brothers, but the plot bunny was vicious. It made me shed blood. Anyways, I realize that making the Transformers human probably kills the whole concept of 'TRANSFORMERS' but you know what, I don't really care, because I absolutely adore AU (Alternative Universe) stories. This is one of them, they're humans and the concept of robots from other space does not exist in this story (yet!).

A/N2: I get all my FBI info from Wikipedia and other sites, so sorry if anything is wrong. Don't know much about them.

Status: unfinished, not planned, mostly just sprouting directly from my head. No Beta (If you want to, please note me!)

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**Chapter one: The Bee**

His best friend from the academy had once told him to take a deep breath, relax, and fix the tie before ever walking into the respective leader's office. It was probably some of the best advice in the world, though he could barely force his limbs to walk again after he had fixed the tie and made sure his black suit sat flawless. He smothered a hand through his blond hair before taking another deep breath.

_Well, here goes nothing…_

And then he opened the clear, glass door, stepping inside calmly to the room he had studied from a distance, since the Assistant Director in Charge's office had glass walls. It was simple in its complexity, a desk by the windows covered by blinds. The desk had the most essential office stuff, like a phone, pencils, papers, a computer crammed to one end but probably never used because the keyboard was covered by rapports. Cabins, assumingly also with reports and information in paper form, filled the corners. And then there was the director in charge of the New York field office…

The elder man with almost dark blue, black hair sat by his desk and was reading files, of unknown source. Deeply engrossed in these he didn't hear the guest coming in. It was only when the younger cleared his throat that he looked up.

"Ah," the Assistant Director said as he saw the younger. A quick glance in what could presumably be a calendar, he smiled to the younger. "Robert Bee, I presume?"

The young man, Robert Bee, nodded. His name was a several generations long joke, he thought. Who had ever gotten the idea of taking the surname Bee? It was cruel, evil and everything else. Oh sure, when you're grown up it is a funny name, but as a kid it was enough reason to be the receiving end of years of bullying. The name Bee was no fun when young, and Robert still didn't like it even with his twenty-four years.

"Well, Agent Bee," the Director said as he stood up from the desk and walked to the younger. Robert had to keep himself from wincing. _Agent Bee… ouch_. "I'm Assistant Director Orian Myers, as I presume you already know." Myers cocked an eyebrow in question. Robert nodded again. Yes, he had done his homework, checked the names of the main personal. It was also there he found out that he was not the only one with a peculiar name. There was a man in the Office of Public Affairs, for example, named Joe Bazz.

"Welcome to the FBI."

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So there he was. At first he had thought he just wanted to be a police officer, but for some reason it didn't seem as enough, not when he could be a Federal Bureau of Investigation agent. And with a four-year degree in hand, an excellent physical condition, and with what was deemed as an amazing memory, he had gotten in pretty fast. New York was a messy town; one Robert Bee always thought needed a good cleaning. The Police Department was one of the places to go, but now Robert stood in the FBI, in front of a white – slightly tanned – man he would never had guessed an agent. Not with such spiky, ruffled, black hair, with sunglasses and a casual white-toothed grin, and the tie was even a little loose.

This couldn't be his superior, one of the men who would become his companion until he got his own FBI partner.

"This is Joe Bazz," Director Myers said with a small smile. Robert guessed he hadn't really hid the widening of his blue eyes as well as he wanted to. "He will be your supervisor, together with Chris Johns."

When Robert looked around for the redhead whose file he had read – Chris Johns, twenty-six, Office of Public Affairs, and Bazz' partner – he just received a chuckled from Joe.

"Nah, man, Jumper's off," he said with a shrug, "Got a call not long ago, he's investigating."

"Jumper?" Robert queried with a furrowed brow. The surname was Johns, wasn't it? He couldn't have gotten that wrong, he was sure. The director had just said Johns too. Joe grinned again.

"Nickname of his," the agent said cheerfully. "You see, he has a hobby of jumping around on buildings. Calls it a sport, uh, what was it again…"

"Parkour," Robert helped. He had read about it, heard it should be a very demanding sport of sorts. He was honestly impressed if Chris Johns did that as a free-time hobby.

"Right. So, should we take a tour around before joinin' Johns, hm?" Bazz calmly took his black sunglasses off to reveal hazel eyes. The agent smiled to Myers, "If ya don't mind, Orian?"

The Director smiled gently as he nodded and stepped back to his office. Joe then patted Robert's shoulder as he started walking. Bee stared a little at his laid-back superior's back before following. That was the most peculiar superior he had ever seen.

"So, how old were ya again?" Joe started the conversation as they walked amongst desks and people in a well light, large building. "Cuz, ya know, I'll have to know if I gonna tease you or Chris for being the youngest."

"I'm twenty-four," Robert said, offering a small smile. So, he would be teased. Well, as long as it wasn't because of his name.

"Ah, whole two years younger," Joe huffed a laugh. "What made ya qualified to join at such an age?"

"My file says strong runner, good aim and photographic memory," Robert answered as the pair kept down the hallway of desks. God, the building was huge!

Joe suddenly stopped and Robert nearly bumped into the older one. "Photographic memory? Really?"

Bee's brows knitted a little. "Or so people like to call it."

"Neat," was all the response he got as Bazz started down the row of desks and people, just to stop abruptly again and exclaim; "Mike! Hey, over here, dude!"

Robert looked up to see – good Lord, was that blue!? – short hair attached to a white man, around the thirties, sharp featured face with almost black eyes. He wore a dark blue suit. Bee recognized the man from a file he had read. "Mike Allard, right?" he asked the man, trying to sound polite and not so curious when the new man walked closer. Mike stopped in front of the pair.

"_Allard_," he corrected with a hint of annoyance and supposed superiority. "It's French."

Robert tried to hide his frown. He had barely met the man, but he really didn't like the attitude. He recalled that the file said he was half-French – if you listened closely you could maybe hear a tinge of an accent – and had been raised in the higher class but that was no reason to act superior in any way. "Sorry. Mike _Allard_, then." Oh, he really tried not to sound sarcastic.

Allard just sneered before deciding to ignore the newcomer and turn his attention to Bazz. "So is this you and Johns' new pet? Heard we got a new in Public Affairs."

Robert spluttered slightly in respond. Pet? Why that damn…

"Robert is _our_ new friend, Mikey," Joe cut in coldly, but still smiling. Then the seriousness shifted, apparently much to Allard's disdain judging by his grimace. "So," Bazz started, "how's Hank doin'?"

The close-to-blue-haired man sighed shortly with a frown, "O'Neill is better. The hospital released him this morning to return home and rest. Now, if you don't mind," Allard straightened almost stiffly, "I've got information to sort." With that he turned around on his heel and walked away.

The two stood in short silence before Robert spoke, "Who is Hank O'Neill?"

Bazz grinned, "Hank's a police officer in NYPD and a good friend of Mike's." He then gave a mock exasperated shrug, "Never understood how they became friends. Hank's a bit redneck, ya see."

"And O'Neill was in the hospital?"

"Yeah, got himself in a bit o' a struggle with the Soldati brothers." Joe gave a wry smile, "They had decided that iron would be a nice color in him."

Bee grimaced. Well, it was a dangerous job they had and they all knew that. "What is Allard's field of expertise?" He knew that, he had read it in the Allard's file, but he asked for the sake of conversation.

"Criminal Investigative Division and an Intelligence Analyst," Joe said as they kept walking. "One helluva interrogator too."

Robert ran a hand through his blond hair, not quite sure what to think of the CID agent. His first impression had been that Allard was a nose-in-the-sky guy, but apparently he could get down-to-the-ground friends, so Bee wasn't sure. He decided he would just have to wait and see if he would get to learn the analyst even if they worked in quite different divisions.

"Mike's okay," Bazz suddenly said as if he had read Robert's mind. "He's not a very social person, but he dang good at wha' he does."

Robert just nodded, a bit lost in his own thoughts as he studied the faces they passed, each and every one of them getting stored in that photographic memory of his. It was only when they walked down a hallway to the side that he guessed where they were going.

"Let's check who's in the mess hall," Joe grinned, confirming Robert's thoughts, and pushing open a pair of double doors he revealed a larger, quite open and well lit room, a canteen against one wall and the rest of the space occupied by tables. Several people sat around, talking, chatting and of course, eating. Joe swept his hazel eyes around and apparently spotting someone to meet, he moved to a table.

By the table sat three men. One was dark-skinned with dark brown eyes, around the early-thirties, the short, brown dreadlocks partially covered by an overly bright orange cap and clad in black pants, white shirt and a dark orange, loose jacket. He didn't look anything like and FBI agent, since he then would have worn a suit or just something not so insane colored. The second man was white, the dirty brown hair almost getting into blue eyes, around his late-thirties and wearing black pants and a white shirt that could use a cleaning. The third white male was a short-haired redhead, with almost icy blue eyes and was the only one actually wearing a prober, brown, suit. Bee only recognized the redhead.

"Hey guys," Joe grinned as he pushed a fifth chair up to the table, leaving the fourth open for Robert to sit beside the brown haired. "Let me jus' introduce ya."

"This," Bazz started, pointing at the dark-skinned, orange capped man, "is Blake Tennison. He's in the Cyber Division. A genius in cyberwarfare."

Blake flashed a white-toothed grin to Robert and nodded silently to the younger one. The young one nodded back, still wondering how such clothes were approved, though he guessed it was because Blake wasn't a field guy, and often the FBI had to compromise to get the geniuses to work for them.

"This is Wally Jackson," Joe continued and waved a hand at the brown haired who sat next to Robert. "Operational Technology Division."

Jackson smiled and stuck out a hand for Robert to shake. Jackson seemed friendly and cheerful and it was actually pretty obvious to Bee that the brown haired man worked with tech, probably machinery, judging by the grime that was smeared in the hair.

"And lastly, Redmond Alexander, head of the Security Division."

Alexander didn't smile, but he nodded politely to Bee before continuing eating the meatloaf looking thing. Robert was amazed by the ice blue eyes, they seemed to bore into you and read your innermost with just a glance.

"Guys, this is Robert Bee, new in Public Affairs." Joe smiled in Robert's direction, and the three greeted again. Jackson smiled widely, the smile reaching the blue eyes.

"Bee? That's an interesting name." Wally sounded truly intrigued, but Robert just scowled at the brown-haired.

"I am well aware of that, thank you very much…" he grumbled sarcastically. Jackson's eyes widened a little and he then smiled sheepishly in apology.

"No offence meant, kid," the older man said. "It's just a fascinating name… You're not the only one with special name here, you know."

Bee sighed shortly. _Great, excellent first impression, Robert, _he thought. _Get nasty with your superiors, good move._ He mentally chided himself into next week before answering; "I know," and he really did, "it's just… lots of teasing because of that name."

Blake chuckled, "No one gonna tease ya here, man," he said, "'Specially not when Joe's yar supervisor. He's dangerous."

To that, Joe only grinned widely, not giving off one ounce of 'dangerous' aura. Robert doubted that the man really could be dangerous. Oh sure, dangerous to criminals but to anyone else, nah, probably not.

Blake leaned over the table to get closer to Robert, "Dangerous, I tell ya," he whispered like it was confidential for only the two of them, not considering that the rest of the table could clearly hear him. Wally laughed shortly and Joe's grin widened. Redmond didn't really react but just maybe Robert could see a smile tug the corners of his mouth. There was apparently a joke he didn't get there…

Silence suddenly fell when Bazz' mobile phone rang. In all seriousness he took the small black phone from his pocket and studied the display. The others relaxed a little when he mouthed the words; 'Chris'.

"Heya, Bazz here. How's the investigation goin'? Really? Yeah, yeah, I've met him…" Joe smiled shortly to Robert as he continued the talk with Johns. Robert listened curiously to the one-sided conversation and watched from the corner of his eyes how Blake nudged Wally and said something that made them both chuckle. "He's fine… yeah, younger…" Joe chuckled quietly, "Of course not… huh, triple? That's some time ago we've seen that… No no, I think he already left… Sure I'm sure, I saw him leave… Uh, that's possible… Give the man some free-time, Chris… Serious? How so? … Weird?" Joe frowned, and Redmond frowned too hearing the agent questions. "Collins's ther—? … Can't find it? But you said… Just confirmed otherwise, sure… Fine, fine, we'll be there… Of course he's coming too… Yeah… Sure… Let it go, Chris! … See ya." Joe sighed as he ended the conversation and pushed the phone back into his pocket.

"Looks like yar goin' to the field," Blake grinned to Robert and, sure, Joe stood and motioned for Bee to follow him.

"Poker Friday?" Joe asked the three men with a grin. Wally and Blake both nodded, and though Redmond didn't seem to notice, Robert was pretty sure the redhead would be dragged along anyways. Joe waved a short goodbye before he walked away, quickly followed by Robert.

"Chris's called," Joe started, like Robert hadn't noticed, as they left the mess hall. "We got some deep investigation ta do. Triple homicide and a _possibly_ suicide."

"_Possibly_?" he questioned with furrowed brow. By Joe's tone there was some doubt and confusion about that.

"Yeah, possibly. Peter's not sure, but he'll brief us properly once there." He moved through double doors to a parking lot outside of the FBI main building. "If we're lucky, we'll bump into Radovan on the way."

Bazz opened and sat at the driver's wheel in his white Porsche and Robert let himself in on the other front seat. The supervisor turned on the radio and the music blasted out at an almost ear-deafening level. Then he started the engine and they drove off.

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_A/N: Hello. I'll give ya an CyberCookie if ya guess who every human are – not including the Soldati brothers, Peter, and Radovan, because we haven't gotten they whole names. If you do guess them all, you'll get __**two**__ imaginary cookies =D_

_I'll continue this if people receive it well and wants more. Please do leave a review! I feed on them..._


	2. The Scene

**FBI**

**Chapter two: The Scene**

Warning: Bloody scenes

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The white Porsche slowed down when the area became crowded with people who stood around and mumbled to one another. The yellow tape saying 'Crime Scene Do Not Cross' and the police held the people of New York back who seemed both revolted and insanely curios to see whatever had happened. Joe parked the car before the mass became too tight and after locking the Porsche he proceeded to push his way through the mass. The sunglasses were back on his face, he held a serious frown and his whole presence radiated 'don't mess with me'. Enough to make the mass split like the Red Ocean and let the FBI agents pass.

Bazz and Bee crossed the yellow tape after having quickly flashed their FBI badges and mumbled their names. It was like leaving a concert; one moment you're squished by the fans, the next there is no one around you, and the noise from the public fades, like you stepped under a blanket. The two FBI agents walked up to the sidewalk where two police officers stood on either side of an entrance to a former dark alleyway – projectors now lit the alley and they faintly saw bodies lying in there, surrounded by law enforcements.

"Woods," Joe called calmly to get one of the men's attention. The guy to their left straightened by the sound of his name and nodded stiffly to Bazz. The man had very light-brown hair – you could even call it blond – and startling green eyes. He wore a police uniform, and he was not tall, but neither short – quite broad-shouldered actually.

Woods was grimacing lightly when the two agents walked up to him – Bee wondered if it was because of the situation or a permanent grimace.

Joe frowned, "Bran, what's wrong?" he asked, because the grimace wasn't normal apparently. Robert guessed that the man should have seen situations like this one before and he would have a tough stomach by now.

"It's bad, Bazz," Bran Woods said, running a hand through the short hair in a possibly nervous gesture. "Really, really bad."

Bazz' frown deepened and he walked past the policeman into the alleyway, quickly followed by a slightly confused Robert. Of course it was bad; there were four bodies in there.

The three victims of shooting was the first they saw. One male body was sitting leaned against a wall, a bloody trail on said wall where the victim had slumbered. Robert guessed the first victim around the mid-twenties, and the body had three bullet holes in him – two in the chest and one bullet in the left thigh. The second was farther inside, lying sprawled on the ground in a pool of his own blood – four bullets, two in the chest, one in the stomach, and one in the head. The third was lying on his front, like he had been dumped, had a sticky red patch on his back above his heart. Shot in the front, possibly, one bullet.

Robert side-glanced at Joe to see no emotions spill over the sunglass covered face as they passed the three victims. And then there was the shooter…

Robert Bee silently thanked the heavens for the intensive stomach training he had gone through. The shooter had shot himself. In the head. Right through the head, temple to temple. Dear God that was a lot of blood… and brain.

The shooter was on his back, arms and legs spread out, with a handgun in the right hand. Eyes closed. Clearly and utterly dead. The body wore something akin to a tai-chi training suit – loose clothes of an oriental style. Beige pants and a white shirt like thing made the body look terribly out of place with the normal clad victims. The dark hair looked mattered and was a stark contrast to the white skin of a dead.

He heard Joe beside him inhale a sharp breath by the sight, though it confused Robert because the superior must have seen worse.

"Oh no," Joe muttered quietly, crouching beside the body, careful not to smear any of the blood or touch anything. "Ah no, man." He took off his sunglasses and Robert was surprised to see a sad expression on Bazz' face. "Dammit, Grant, what the hell…"

Robert watched with wide eyes. Joe had known the man? Well, that was defiantly not good and judging by the disbelieving mutter coming from the supervisor it was anything but expected. This could become a tad more complicated than simply a shooting massacre.

Joe stood and walked back to Robert, rubbing his nose bridge as if fighting off a headache. He stuffed the sunglasses in a pocket and shortly glanced over his shoulder to look at the body with a furrowed brow.

"Bran was right, this is really bad…" Joe said to the young newbie. Robert raised a concerned eyebrow in question. Why was it so bad from anything else?

"The man is… was Grant Adrian," the supervisor calmly corrected himself and took a deep breath as if he needed the strength to continue. "He had four very close brothers…"

Oh. Robert's eyes widened slightly. Well, that explained it. It wasn't enough that Joe knew the killer, said killer also had four brothers. He wasn't quite sure if it was bad – four brothers who sought revenge? – or if it was sad – four brothers who would mourn?

"But it doesn't make any sense…" Joe mumbled to himself, then clearer as he explained to Robert. "Grant was a… free spirit, he liked to call it. He lived the free life, often slept outside and travelled long distances on his motorbike. An' he wouldn't hurt a fly, unless he accidentally sat on one," a humorless chuckle. "Ya see, Robert, it doesn't make sense. Grant loved life, and though he didn't make a lot of attachments, he was always friendly… He would never kill…" Joe ended it with a soft curse.

Robert stared solemnly on the ground, feeling his superior's frustration and sadness. He could see why it didn't make sense to Joe, since this Grant didn't sound anything like a killer. Or anything like the body lying cold in the alleyway.

Joe murmured something that could possibly be 'won't accept this' and walked over to some people standing by one of the victim bodies. Robert followed, as someone temporarily covered Grant Adrian's body with a sheet. The gun was being picked up by gloved hands and carefully placed in a plastic bag.

It only took Joe a couple of steps to reach the people he looked for. Chris Johns stood near the body that had a bullet in the heart, watching emotionlessly as another man, crouching by the body, carefully lifted up in the dead body's jacket arm, revealing the wrist. The man was in his mid-thirties and a little pale, black hair, dark-blue eyes and he was wearing an almost transparent lab-coat-looking-crime-scene-investigator set over seemingly everyday clothes, with gloves so he wouldn't leave any fingerprints. It was clear to Robert that the black haired was a laboratory man, not only because of the clothes but also the almost genuine curiosity he seemed to show at the corpse.

"Peter!" Joe said rather loudly causing the man to flinch in shock and drop the jacket arm again. The man looked up in short surprise then scowled lightly at the agent.

"I would appreciate it if you would refer from yelling my name, Agent Bazz," the black-haired Peter said before adding sourly "_again_."

Bazz just shrugged it off, and he calmly picked up his sunglasses from the pocket and placed them back to shade his face and emotions. "Tell me what you see, Doctor Collins," he said to the laboratory man blankly. Robert was vaguely stunned by the coldness emitting from Joe, but this was probably what Blake had talked about – the man could be dangerous.

Doctor Peter Collins sighed shortly and let the blank tone pass. He apparently knew what troubled thoughts went through Joe's mind. Bee had a pretty good idea too.

"So far it is as you see," Peter began, standing up to get a better view of the situation. The two other bodies lay closer to the open street than the body they stood by and the shooter's body was farther inside. "They died around five to six hours ago, early morning, when the streets are deserted around these parts. He died first, as far as we can tell – one bullet to the chest." Peter pointed at the body he had just examined. "The one there," pointing at the one sprawled further down, "shot four times, dead by the second to the head. The last victim was shot three times and he bled out not long after." Collins straightened with a calming breath, "The shooter shot himself, as far as we have been able to decipher. We have only been able to quick examine one bullet, one that passed through a body's thigh, but it would seem to fit the 9mm Beretta." The sometimes crime scene investigator frowned sadly. "I am sorry, Agent Bazz, but all evidence points to Grant Adrian as the murderer."

Joe cursed softly. Chris ran a hand through his red hair before asking the doctor, "What were you studying a second ago?"

Peter looked at the body before backing a little off with the three agents to let the techs put it in a body bag for transportation. He looked shortly lost in his own thoughts. "The first victim and the shooter seem both to be carrying light bruises around the wrists. Though I cannot tell precisely at the moment I would say, off the record, it could be possible contusions from rope."

"What would that mean?" Johns asked with a furrowed brow, something that could be borderline sad, but still look angry.

Collins held up his hands and shook his head quietly, "I cannot say until further investigation, I'm afraid."

Robert watched the crime scene getting picked up and pretty much moved whole. The bodies were moved after the white paint had marked the final resting places. Pictures were still being taken, and investigation was still half going on. Outside the alleyway, the police still kept the public away, especially the deeply annoying journalists. As a law enforcer you quickly learned to hate them.

"Someone will have to tell them, Agent," Robert heard Doctor Collins mutter hesitantly to Bazz. Joe just nodded, any feelings hidden behind the sunglasses.

"I'll tell them. Personally," he said. "Chris, help Peter finish up here then you'll find Radovan and get him on the case."

The redhead nodded. Order understood. "They'll probably need him in the Coroner's office," he mumbled as he turned and walked over to some police officers to discuss the case with them.

"They always do…" Joe muttered for himself as he turned on his heel. "Robert, you're with me, we got 'family duty'."

Robert followed his supervisor out of the alley, and they walked to Bazz' car just after quickly discussing the situation to the policeman Bran Woods. Here Robert also learned that Hank O'Neill and Bran were partners in the police. Bran apparently had known who the shooter was, because he asked if Joe would tell them. Joe had nodded without saying a word and then walked away to the car.

The noise of the public faded the second Robert shut the car door. Joe sighed heavily and leaned his forehead against the wheel as soon as they were inside the car, unnoticed by the New York people.

"Damn…" he breathed.

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_A/N: Still with the guessing. I'm not gonna tell you who's who in the A/N, I'll let the fic do that for me. But if you really are at a loss, just review or ask, I'll tell you._

_I can perfectly understand if you don't know who Grant Adrian is yet, but his name was tricky to get it to fit, but it should become obvious later. Not gonna tell you yet though, unless you guess right :P_

_I didn't let Cliffjumper shine through just yet. And hopefully we'll see some bad guys soon._

_Feel the suspense? Please review._


	3. The First

**FBI**

**Chapter three: The First**

_A/N: The reviews are amazing! Thank you_

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For a long time they drove in silence. Bazz just kept his eyes on the road and Bee watched the streets pass behind the window. He actually spotted the same street more than once, and the third time that happened he realized that his superior was indecisive of where he should go first. They had four brothers to contact and tell the terrible news and he honestly didn't know where to start himself.

"The five of them," Joe suddenly started, eyes still on the road, or so Robert guessed because the supervisor still wore the sunglasses, "they've been living together a long time, because they parents died when they were pretty young. Always looked after each other, ya know." Robert could spot a smile tug the corners of Joe's mouth, "Always been tempted ta call them quintuplets."

Joe fell silent again. Robert studied his supervisor with a furrowed brow. He had seen how Joe's slight 'hip-hop' way of talking seemed to disappear in certain situations. He wasn't thinking that it was in any way fake, but Joe, like most FBI agents, learned in the academy that certain things were best taken deeply serious – they actually learned to drop accents in those cases.

"We got four to inform," Joe started, "Hoben works at the local fire station, Philip at the hospital, Steven as a helicopter pilot in the FBI and Blaze is a bit of a street guy. Blaze should be the last we seek out…"

"Why?" Robert questioned.

"Beside the fact that I'm not totally sure where ta find him? He's got a bit of a temper, ya see, tends to get inta trouble with the police cuz of fights," Bazz explained. "It'll be best if the other three are there…"

Silence. Robert was almost becoming accustomed to the breaks in speech when Joe had to think it through.

"I don't know where to go first…" The superior spoke hesitantly. It was almost scary to hear the uncertainty.

"The closest?" Robert offered with a frown. From this point in town, the closest would be the hospital, and Robert couldn't help but to think that maybe it would be easier for a doctor since these often did the 'family duty' stuff. Of course it wouldn't be easy for any of them.

"Yeah…" Joe mumbled and turned right in the direction of the hospital. "Phillip it is then"

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The waiting room of the hospital was bustling with life in its own hospital-quiet way. Some eyes turned in their direction as they entered but quickly turned away. The waiting chairs against the wall held some people, none of them with any kind of serious injury or illness. Many probably waiting for others. Some anxiously, some bored. The information counter with a computer, phones, and different kinds of cabins with reports and medical files was held in one corner, two nurses on duty; one in the chair, writing on the computer and the other nurse rustling through medical files. Four well-lit corridors ran from the waiting hall – one to the exit and three to other sections of the hospital.

"Wait here," Joe ordered quietly as he stepped the rest of the way – about three or four steps – to the desk. Robert could hear his superior say hello to the nurse by the computer, who apparently knew him. An odd sort of small talk was next and meanwhile Robert took the chance to look around at the waiting people.

There was an elder, gruff man who was coughing harshly into his inner elbow and, not surprisingly, the seats on either side of him were empty. A woman holding a bandage to a possibly small cut on her arm. A boy sniffing because of a cold, clutching his mother's arm in a death grip. A man tapping his foot in impatience. And lots of other people.

"Can I speak to Phillip Adrian?" Joe said, making Robert look back at his supervisor standing, maybe a little stiffly, by the desk. The other nurse, the one looking at medical files, looked up at that and answered before the first nurse had a chance.

"Doctor Adrian is not available at the moment. He's working," she said. From this distance Robert could just about spot the nametag that said something with Keller.

"Ah," Joe said, not sounding in any way like he would back down, "you see, the thing is, as Nurse Jefferson very well knows," he indicated the other nurse, "I'm from the FBI." He took the badge out and showed it to Nurse Keller, who stared with wide eyes, looking quite flushed. The motion had also gotten a lot of the waiting men and women's interest as they now stared at the scenery in front of them. Probably only entertainment in hours.

"And I really need to speak to Doctor Adrian," Joe continued as he hid the badge again. "Urgently. So if he isn't in any form of life-and-death operation, call him here." When Nurse Keller didn't respond, Joe lost what little patience he had left. "Today, if you don't mind!"

The nurse quickly grabbed for a phone and after calling the doctor's pager, Robert guessed, the nurse settled back to sort medical files with a slightly red face now. The older nurse scowled at the younger's back. Maybe she would think twice before butting into one of Nurse Jefferson's conversations again.

Then a doctor entered by one of the corridors. Robert skimmed the white lab coat for a name tag and quickly confirmed the man as Phillip Adrian.

Phillip did resemble his brother, Grant, in certain ways. They had the same dark colored hair, Phillip's with a slight tinge of red, shorter, and better kept. A pair of dark-blue eyes scanned the waiting hall for the reason he had paged to the waiting hall, and Bee was pretty sure that if he had seen Grant's eyes that they would be blue too. Phillip was around the early/mid-twenties, possibly younger than Grant, and also quite possibly not long out of medical school. Though he looked a little shy, he held an air of certainty in his own abilities – and connected with that warm, friendly smile of his, he was probably a popular doctor.

Phillip was about to step up to the desk when he spotted Joe. "Ah, Agent Bazz, what brings you around? Not another case, I hope?"

"No, Phillip," Joe stated with a calm which seemed forced. The sunglasses were still on his face, hiding everything, but Phillip must have seen something, because his steps faltered slightly. "Doctor, we need to talk. In privacy, preferably."

"Uh, yes, of course, we'll use my office…" Phillip said, brow furrowed in confusion and nervousness. The turned to Nurse Jefferson, "Page me if you need me," he said, before indicating down one corridor with his hand for the agents to follow. "Right this way."

His office wasn't located far away from the waiting hall. It wasn't all that big either, but held the most important stuff; desk, chairs, cabin, small locker, one couch, and other things like that. Beside the door was a mattered window, one giving enough light through and you could see shadows pass it on the other side, but not see clearly through. The doctor flickered on the light and shortly after excused for the mess on the desk – he hadn't really had the time to clean it. He made a move to clear the desk and sit down by it but Joe cut him off.

"Phillip," he said, calmly, controlled. "Sit." He indicated the couch.

Adrian looked confused, but the slight nervousness was growing. He walked over and sat in the black couch, seemingly trying to sink deeper into the soft furniture as he looked up at the two agents. "What?" he practically squeaked with the growing sense of dread – one Robert was also feeling – clenching his hands tightly in front of him.

"Phillip, I…" Joe faltered, licked his lips shortly before taking off the glasses, finally revealing his hazel eyes. Robert was sure Joe would have started the whole 'I regret to inform you' thing, but they both knew that it wasn't going to cut it. And Joe decided to take the easiest way after that; do it quickly like ripping off a band-aid. "Phillip, Grant is dead. He died this morning."

The only reaction they got at first was a widening of the blue eyes. "What? How?"

Robert was pretty sure it hadn't dawned yet.

"The investigation is still on-going, but so far it seems he shot himself."

With that, Phillip's eyes blinked their focus to the ground, darting back and forth seemingly from one shoe to the other. Then a growing look of horror settled in his face before he looked up again, seeking Joe's eyes like he could draw something different out of them. He couldn't.

"Grant?" he breathed. "Shot? B-but… No, no, this is wrong, Agent, say it's wrong. Grant couldn't… He would never… Mistaken identity, that has to be it! Joe, please tell me you didn't…" the rest died out when Phillip saw the agent shake his head in grief. 'Please tell me you didn't see the body'. 'Please tell me you're wrong'. 'Please tell me Grant will come home'.

"I'm sorry," Joe whispered brokenly. Robert had stepped a little back. This was something he was too much a newbie to be in. Joe knew the Adrians and they knew him. This was something he couldn't join. Not yet.

"No," the young doctor choked out. "No! This is not… It's…" Phillip failed at trying to find an explanation. He suddenly lurched up from the couch only to have his legs fail him. Joe quickly reached forward as Adrian staggered, the doctor holding a hand to his head at the sudden dizzy spell. The other hand bunched some of Joe's jacket arm together in a knotted fist, feverishly holding on to anything living. Robert settled back from the two; he had also walked forward when the doctor had swayed dangerously, ready to catch.

"Joe?" Adrian's voice was small and timid. "Is he really…? Is Grant really…?"

"He's gone, Phillip."

The doctor's fist knotted more tightly as he took a huge gulp of air in both shock and sorrow. Then he visibly forced himself to take three deep breaths and he seemed to calm down after that. "Do the others know?"

"Not yet," Bazz answered softly. "We'll tell them after this."

"I want to join you." The doctor seemed determined to come along and – not considering the hand still clutching Joe's black jacket arm like it was a lifeline – Robert would have thought the doctor took it rather well, or at least levelheaded.

"You sure you can do that, Doc?" Joe asked. "Don't you have work to do?"

"With this, no I don't."

"Phillip," Joe said carefully but with a voice that sought the doctor's attention. Hazel eyes sought the blues of the smaller man. "I haven't told you the whole thing. It's… complicated."

"Then tell me." Adrian sounded almost angry; maybe troubled that Joe wasn't just spilling. "Joe, just… tell me."

Bazz took a deep breath. "He was found in an alleyway this morning… together with three other bodies. All evidence points at Grant as the murderer. He shot them before he shot himself."

Phillip seemed to still at that, staring at Joe with new confusion. He let go of the jacket sleeve of Joe's black suit – which was now quite wrinkled – and took a step back. "Grant would never do that…" he murmured, still confused. "Joe, you know Grant would never, _ever_ do that."

"Yeah, I know," was the answer. "That's why I have both Peter and Radovan on the case, helping out at the Police lab and the medical examiners."

"Radovan too?"

"Yes, him too," Joe repeated patiently. "For the moment, they're only helping them out, since the case isn't quite FBI stuff yet. But if they don't find some evidence that Grant didn't do it, in the next couple of hours, the case will be closed and Grant will be marked a killer."

Adrian swallowed thickly, controlling his emotions. "Right, uh, we should… we should get going, then…" he stuttered, eyes know on anything but the agents. Whenever the blue eyes drew anywhere near Bazz or Bee, he forces them elsewhere. Then he was the first to walk with a quick stride out of the office and down to the waiting hall, eyes more on the floor than anything in front of him. He just about stumbled into an older doctor at one point. The two agents followed behind him, not talking and as they arrived to the waiting hall, they stood away from the desk, letting Phillip explain his temporary absence of the day. Joe had once again placed the sunglasses, hiding his eyes, like a protective wall from the world and from feelings. Though Robert hadn't known his superior for all that long, he could still sense the tension in the man.

The young agent heard the doctor mumbled something about 'leaving his duty with Doctor McGowan' and heard Nurse Jefferson's concerned questions, before Adrian appeared by the agents' sides and with a small incomprehensible mumble walked to the exit. The lab coat had been dropped with the nurses, and on the way out, Phillip took his jacket from a nearby closet. Looking a little more civilian, the three now walked to the parking lot, where the doctor was the first at the white Porsche. Apparently he knew which car was Joe's.

"Robert, you drive," Joe said as he moved to the other side of the vehicle. "Got a call to make." With that, he got in, quickly followed by the two young men; the agent got in behind the wheel, and the doctor placed himself in the backseat.

They left hospital grounds in a depressing silence.

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_A/N: Listen carefully, I will say this onry wance. If you have not guessed who Grant is by now (I've gotten a lot of colorful guesses) I'll only say this; it is not Grimlock. Now, you're free to guess anyone but him. I will give you another hint. Some actually guessed it in the reviews. Check there (and leave one on your way out)._

_Anyways, I know not much revealing happened in this chapter, but bear with me. I got a whole TF universe I have to turn human… And that freaking huge paper assignment to do… What the hell am I doing here?!_


	4. The Fourth

**FBI**

**Chapter four: The Fourth**

_Warning: Cursing._

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"Hello," Joe started the conversation into his black mobile phone, "Agent Joe Bazz, FBI. I wish to speak with Mr. Isaac Fenn, if he is available."

Robert kept his eyes on the road as he listened to Joe contacting the local fire station, apparently wishing to contact Isaac Fenn, who Bee knew as head of the firefighters. The thirty-six year old firefighter didn't exactly run the place, but he was pretty much the chief and he was also an experienced firefighter.

"No, it's not an emergency, miss," Joe reassured the woman at the other end of the line, "but it's still important that I get in contact with him. Is he available?"

Robert wondered why his superior was contacting Isaac and not Hoben, the next brother they had to contact.

"I'll wait…"

The road kept going straight as Joe waited patiently for the receptionist to contact the firefighter. Robert could hear Joe hum quietly as he waited, and Phillip on the backseat was quiet. He hadn't spoken since they got in the car and the young agent could imagine that he was just staring at his knees, thoughts whirling under the dark hair.

"Ike," Joe suddenly greeted into the phone. "Yeah yeah, I'm good, but this is important… Redmond's fine… Would you just listen? … Ike, I need you to keep Hoben on the station for the next half hour… Yes, Hoben as in Hoben Spiro Adrian… No, he's not in trouble… Ike, just keep him in… I don't know, say it's FBI business, just don't send him on duty… Ike… It's family matters," Joe muttered and then sighed shortly, quieting down. "It's… Ike, keep him in, don't tell him it's because of his family. We'll be there within the next half hour… Sure… Bye."

The driver and passenger were silent as Joe hung up. The supervisor grumbled something inaudible under his breath before slumping into his seat, seemingly quite unhappy with the whole situation. They drove to the fire station.

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Robert parked the car at the fire station's parking lot and the three of them got out, Joe locked the car and they walked to the front of the facility. Here they noticed the gate on the easily-recognizable red building was open, and firefighters bustled about in an organized mess. A yellow lamp was blinking inside the station, which clearly called to alarm, and shortly after one fire truck left, the other still getting ready. Standing farther inside the fire trucks' 'garage' room were two men, apparently discussing heatedly. The first and taller of the two had short, messy black hair, a small amount of stubs on his jaw and light brown eyes. He was wearing the well-known black firefighter suit with yellow reflective tape; two on the torso and one on each sleeve and leg, and the black helmet rested under one arm, while the other arm was thrown out in gestures as he discussed with the other man. The other man, younger – around the thirties – and shorter, only wore half the firefighter suit. The black jacket and the helmet had been discarded informally on the floor. The younger's upper body was covered by a blue, long-sleeved t-shirt and the black hair was well-trimmed – it didn't get into the dark-blue eyes.

Robert could see the resemblance between Phillip and the youngest firefighter, who he guessed to be Hoben Spiro Adrian because of that. He recognized the other man as Isaac Fenn, from an article he had read long ago.

"I don't care!" the three of them heard as they walked closer. "Ya ain't going, Hoben, an' that's final!" the older man practically yelled to the younger.

"It's my job, for crying out loud," the younger retorted just as heatedly. "I'm not going to let some FBI agents stop me from doing my job, Ike! _I_ _don't_ _care_ what they want, they can wait!"

"Spiro, it's an order!"

Hoben was just about to answer back when Joe cleared his throat behind him. The firefighter glanced over his shoulder and stopped, staring bewildered as he saw Phillip behind the agents.

"Bazz! Finally!" Fenn exclaimed in slight anger. Then he walked past Hoben and the three newcomers with a fast stride, got into the fire truck without another word and the vehicle drove off.

Hoben stared at his younger brother, who stared back. It took another throat clearing before the firefighter's attention was driven to the agent. The calm but sad look in Joe's eyes apparently made something dawn, because the man suddenly looked scared. "What happened?" he asked quietly, the duties he had discussed so vividly with Isaac forgotten.

The garage was silent. Whoever had been in there before had either left with the crew or had left the large vehicle area to give Hoben privacy.

Joe glanced shortly over his shoulder at Phillip and then nodded calmly before he motioned to Robert to follow. The two agents walked out the gate again, leaving the younger brother to explain it to the older. Bazz sighed as they got outside, shortly tilting his head and enjoying the warming sun in his face. Robert frowned; he wasn't really having the time of his life.

"Sorry you've to go through this," Joe said as he looked down again, gaze caught on the road in front of the fire station. "First day an' everything."

"It's the job…" Robert just mumbled, shrugging lightly. He hadn't exactly expected anything happier than this, though it was tough stuff for a first day. At least, he thought, it would be hard to top.

The two of them fell silent, listening to the birds and trying their best to not hear the two brothers' conversation, though their voices gave a slight echo in the large fire truck garage. Robert wondered what it would be like to have four… three brothers, how it would be to grow up amongst a large family. He was an only child himself, and the years' gap between his cousins and him hadn't really helped making friends within the family.

Steps alerted the two agents as Phillip stepped out with Hoben just behind him. Hoben looked… devastated, at best. All of a sudden he also looked years older than he actually was. He looked tired, dark eyes shiny with unshed tears. He had dropped the firefighter pants with the jacket and the helmet in a corner of the garage and was now wearing grey jeans, which had been underneath the black pants, and a black jacket over the blue long-sleeved t-shirt.

The four of them left in silence, no words needing to be said. Hoben was coming along, no discussion. Joe decided to drive again, which gave Bee the change to glance over his shoulder at the two brothers. Hoben sat in the middle of the backseat, close to Phillip. They didn't talk, they didn't even look at each other, yet they seemed to find enough comfort in the presence of the other.

Steven West Adrian turned out to be hanging out in the FBI building's mess hall with Erik and Reko Winter. Erik and Reko were brothers, Erik being the oldest. Robert had read a report about them, since they both worked in the Hostage Rescue Team and they had saved more lives than most agents ever would. The two brown-eyed, short-haired blonds did look alike in some ways, but personality-wise they were quiet unlike, Bee had been told. Erik liked to play sport outside of work, where Reko was more a collector of information – trivia knowledge, one could call it.

Steven looked around his late-twenties, had dark hair – the hair at the back of his neck had been colored a sort of silver-grey, but it didn't look like that kind of old-grey. He also had the Adrians dark-blue eyes, and a pair of blue opaque sunglasses rested on his head. He wore grey pants and a grey jacket with the general indicator of him being a helicopter pilot on it – the patch on the right shoulder.

He didn't really react at first, when they had pulled him aside; the two brothers explaining while the two agents stood a little away. Steven's brow knitted in what could be disbelief and brief sadness, but he didn't seem to believe it yet. He followed the others, after being given an 'okay' from his superior, but he didn't mutter a word after that. Judging by Hoben's concerned glances to the younger brother, Robert guessed that the silence wasn't normal.

As they got into the car – the three brothers now slightly crammed in the back, though they didn't seem to mind – Joe asked calmly, "Where do we find Blaze?"

In which Hoben answered, "He said he would go to the neighborhood's basketball field this morning."

So they headed for the Adrians' neighborhood to find the fourth brother.

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Blaze, it turned out, was an aggressive basketball player. As the five humans neared the field, they saw the man, in his mid/late-twenties, playing with seven others and it was clear he was the main player. The other players weren't afraid of him in any way, but they simply couldn't keep up with the talented one. Robert could tell that Blaze was talented, even with the limited knowledge he had of basketball. Blaze was tall, maybe a bit taller than Hoben, his skin tanned by the sun and, of course, had dark-blue eyes. But, unlike his brothers, his hair was brown – Robert considered that it might be colored – and he was clad in a red, loose t-shirt and a pair of black shorts.

In three large steps, a jump and the tiniest flick of his wrist, Blaze successfully dropped the ball into the basket.

"Blaze Adrian," Joe called from the side of the field and drew the attention of the player. With a small nod with his head Joe showed Blaze the three brothers, who stood behind him. Blaze talked to the other players, too soft or the agents to hear, and walked towards the five people. Around the time he arrived there, Joe and Robert had already moved away, like a trained progress, far enough away so that they couldn't hear what was being said.

It didn't take long for a reaction. Blaze's yelling soon was loud enough for everyone on, and around, the basketball field to hear.

"They're lying!" The angry roar was currently aimed at Hoben. The older one just shook his head in slight frustration.

"Why would they lie, Blaze?" the firefighter answered with a surprising calm. "They're FBI. They don't lie about stuff like that. And you know Joe…"

"Shut up! We can't fucking trust them just because they flashed a badge! And I don't care if it's Joe," Blaze aimed a furious look in the agent's direction, "because apparently we didn't know him very well. Grant is _not dead_!"

"Blaze…" Phillip said sadly and hesitating. Blaze stared at his youngest brother, fear shining through the anger in his eyes. The basketball player sudden whirled his head in the direction of the agents, before he started to walk towards them with heavy, heated steps. Robert glanced to his superior shortly, but seeing Joe keeping his calm, he didn't react either.

"You!" Blaze exclaimed when he got nearer. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" A finger jabbed in Joe and Robert's direction. "Coming here, lying like snakes and sayin' that Grant is dead!?"

Joe didn't answer the man, the eyes hidden behind sunglasses – when did those get out of the pocket? – and Blaze was getting more angry and irritated, his blue eyes darting between the two agents.

"Blaze," Robert decided to try and explain that they really weren't lying, that they had seen the body themselves. "I wish we were lying. But we aren't. We saw—"

The brown-haired man cut Bee off with a loud "Shut up!" and a sudden movement towards the agent. Admitted, Robert had half expected the 'attack' but he hadn't really predicted the speed of the man. With one mighty shove to his upper chest, Robert lost all balance and he toppled over with an '_ooff'_.

Pain suddenly burst from the back of his head; he hadn't had time to brace behind him for his fall. He heard Joe yell "Blaze!" through the dizzy haze and he blinked a couple of times to try and find focus.

To Robert's credit, he never did lose consciousness. It just blackened shortly in the corners of his eyes. He saw – though did not register – Joe grab for Blaze with a yell to pull him away. Blaze turned around and grabbed the front of the agent's suit, yelling something Robert couldn't hear over the buzzing. The three brothers stepped forward the same time Robert sat up groggily, chasing the darkness away. Wauw, was that embarrassing, Bee thought as he gingerly touched the back of his head to check if it was bleeding. Four years of advanced agent training and he had been downed by a basketball player in seconds.

What a shitty first day it was becoming.

"Shit, Blaze!" he suddenly heard Joe yell. "What the _hell_ ya think ya doin'?" Robert guessed that his superior no longer cared to filter the pronunciations of the words. Blaze still had a tight, enraged grip on Joe's jacket. Joe held the t-shirt by Blaze's shoulder in a fist, the other arm ready to strike if he deemed it necessary. Hoben stood by Blaze's other shoulder, trying to muscle his way between the two men. "We ain't lying, man! Goddammit, I don' know what happened, but Grant is _dead_!"

The second he exclaimed it, Hoben successfully got Blaze to back down and let go. Joe fixed his suit with an inaudible mumble, as Hoben grabbed the basketball player's shoulders and tried to make eye contact. Blaze's eyes evaded Hoben's. The firefighter was muttering quiet words to his brother, things like 'you need to calm down', 'it's okay', to make him cool down.

"It's not bleeding, but you have to stop prodding it." Robert was rather startled to hear the quiet words from Doctor Adrian, who was kneeling by his side. He hadn't even noticed the silent one. Neither had he noticed that he had actually continued to softly poke the sore area. "It's going to leave a bump," Phillip said as he studied the offended area closer, "but you're fine, Agent…"

Robert grumbled lightly. He didn't feel all that fine; his pride felt a little cracked. When the doctor hesitated with the name he realized that he hadn't introduced himself to any of the Adrians. "Robert Bee," he answered. Just then, Joe crouched down in front of Robert.

"You okay?" the supervisor asked, not really sounding concerned. Bee couldn't blame him; agents were trained to take a worse beating.

"Yeah…"

"Come on, let's leave them to figure it out." Both Joe and Phillip stood, Joe nodding to the doctor with a, "We'll wait with the car. When you've figured this out, I'll take you to the police station," to which Phillip nodded.

Bazz extended a hand to pull Bee up. Robert didn't stumble when he was helped up, much to his delight, and they left the four brothers behind, at the side of the basketball field, walking to the car.

"I can see why we had to get the others first," the new agent mumbled. Joe just huffed in agreement. As they neared the car, Robert gentle touched the back of his head again. The sharp pain had been replaced with a dull throbbing, which soon, he hoped, would disappear. He really didn't want to walk around with a headache for the rest of the day, so he figured he might take a couple of pain pills if the pain didn't go away.

Joe's phone rang. With a movement probably done a thousand times before, he fished the black phone from the pocket and, barely looking at the display, he clicked the button to start the conversation.

"Bazz…" he began. "Now? … No no, it's fine… Just… Peter, hold up a second." He pulled the car keys from another pocket and quickly unlocked the white Porsche. Getting in, he placed the black phone in a holder, connected to speakers inside the car.

Robert, getting in at the passenger's seat, heard Peter at the other end of the line ruffle with some papers and mumble some inaudible things.

"It's on speaker, Peter," Joe said as he shut the door of the driver's seat. "Robert's here too."

"_Robert?_" Peter sounded confused, the voice had a tiny bit of static behind. "_Oh, right, the new one._"

Bee wondered how long he would be the 'new one'. Joe smirked lightly, possibly thinking the same thing, before shaking his head lightly.

"What've you got, Collins?"

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_A/N: I don't like homework… I've been quite busy; huge projects and papers 'n' everything._

_Anyways, I've been wondering if I should put in a list of the characters. I like it better to let the fic show that, honestly, but if people can't guess it… I'll always respond to any questions of who's who. What do you think I should do? A list? But I just have to say this; if you haven't guessed it yet, the Adrians are the Protectobots._

_But finally finished the whole 'Adrians' thing, so the story should pick up speed soon._

_Keep guessing~ _

_And do enjoy and review!_


	5. Bullet Time

**FBI**

**Chapter five: Bullet Time**

_Warning: Wikipedia-studied babble. I am sorry for any mistakes._

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"_For starters,_" Peter Collins began, "_the bullets in the three bodies matches the M9 Beretta, semiautomatic, 9mm pistol found in the shooter's hand. We are still examining two bullets from the victims and the one that passed through the shooter's head. There were no other fingerprints on the gun beside the shooter's._"

Robert noticed, a tiny bit pleased, that Peter always said 'the shooter' when referring to Grant. Maybe Peter didn't believe the whole thing either.

"_That said, I should probably mention that two of the victims wore gloves and therefore could not have had left fingerprints. We have identified the two bodies – those hit with the most bullets – as,_" some more rustling with paper as Collins looked for the identifications, "_Ulrik Sorenson and Oten Klans._"

"That's some unusual names," Joe said with a thoughtful scratching on his chin. "They shouldn't be too tough ta find."

"_Indeed. One of the police investigators is checking their records and connections,_" Peter confirmed. "_We are having a bit of troubles identifying the third victim, but hopefully we will come up with something. Now…_" Peter trailed off almost expectantly, like a dramatic pause, though Bee guessed that the scientist was looking up some more data, "_The most peculiar thing we've found is a large amount of a drug within the shooter's bloodstream._"

"A drug?" Joe asked with a furrowed brow. "Grant didn't do drugs…"

"_It is not the odd part, Agent. It seems that we have yet to encounter anything like this drug before. It's unknown to us._"

"Unknown?" the agent asked, increasingly confused. "Peter, ya sure ya got the best folks on this?"

"_Please, Agent,_" Peter managed to sound almost insulted; "_both Radovan and I have examined it. It's newly chemical engineered, for what we can tell, and is both a mix of drugs and medicines and have some new compounds in it. For now we have been able to tell that it has some properties similar to epinephrine._"

"Chemical synthesized adrenalin?" Robert asked. He remembered reading about adrenalin and its doing in one's body.

"_Yes yes, though far more complicated._"

"Could it in any way have been the cause of the shooter's death?" Robert queried, digging down the evidence for any possible solution to the crime.

"_It could have, if given a larger dose. The chemical will, have we been able to examine so far, make the heart beat faster, like normal epinephrine. It will also induce higher adrenalin levels in certain sectors of the brain, I think, but I have yet to confirm it._"

"What's keepin' ya from confirmin'?" Joe asked.

"_It's science, Bazz, it takes time,_" Peter clarified with an exasperated sigh. "_I'm waiting for the blood work, tissue sample and the scans of the brain to complete their analysis, but I cannot do a full autopsy yet._"

"… because?"

"_I imagine that the Adrians would want to confirm the body before we open up the skull, Agent._" Peter sounded chillingly indifferent about it. He probably was too. Even if he had known the shooter, he had a job to do.

"Oh…"

"_Oh indeed._"

"Peter, did the police find a motorbike in the vicinity of the crime scene?" Robert inquired to the man at the other end of the line. Grant often rode a motorbike, or motorcycle, when he travelled, Bee had been told earlier. He guessed Grant could have been out on it when whatever had happened, happened. Maybe they could get some clues out of it.

"More of a motorcycle, really," Joe elaborated with a shrug. "A BMW, I think."

"_Hold on…_" Collins mumbled and the sound of a chair scratching the floor indicated that the examiner stood and left. The two agents heard inaudible conversation, followed by scrambling of papers. "_There we are…_" the examiner murmured to himself as he sat again. "_No motorcycles of any kind were found on or near the crime scene. And only a very few amount of cars around, all of them accounted for and the owners are noted in the report._"

"So, no motorcycles," Joe said with a thoughtful frown. "Better get a search started. Half-public." Which meant informing media that they needed any kind of information on that particular, abandoned motorcycle. "I'll ask Phillip for more details."

"_I will launch something… How are they taking it?_" the doctor finished tentatively.

To that Joe could only sigh, "How ya woul' take it loosin' a brother."

"_Right…_"

In the awkward silence that followed, Robert ran through and sorted all the information in his head. True, with all that evidence it really seemed like Grant Adrian was the murderer. Maybe that was the case. Either way, if they didn't find some evidence soon, the case would be closed.

"_By the way, Agent, you should probably look out for any call from Orian. He did not seem… thrilled that both Radovan and I were working on this case. After all, it is police business._"

"Got that, Doc."

Just then, a finger jabbed the window near Robert's head. He jumped slightly before turning to see Phillip standing there, looking in. His eyes looked about to cry though his mouth held a serious frown.

"Say, Peter…" Joe said when he saw Phillip waiting. "We'll be a' the station in half an hour. See ya there."

"_Uh, sure…_" Peter managed to say before the agent hung up, clicked the phone off the holder and putted it back into the pocket. At the same time Robert rolled the window down.

Jazz leaned over slightly to study the face of the doctor, "You ready ta go?"

"Yeah, they'll be here in a second," Phillip answered with a sigh. He rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly, looking weary and gloomy.

"Ya do realize that we'll have ta question you an' the others?" Joe didn't look all too happy to state that procedure, but it was trained routine. Though it probably wouldn't be Joe and Robert questioning, but some random police guy.

Phillip sighed again, clearly not looking forward to it. "I know," he said quietly, "but there won't be much we can help with. He left for one of his trips three or four days ago, you know how he is… was…"

Joe just nodded. From behind Phillip, Robert saw the three brothers walk over. Hoben held a worried furrowed brow as he studied Steven and Blaze. The FBI helicopter pilot looked no different, still slightly vacant, but Blaze now looked both distressed and angry. It was a little disconcerting.

"Bazz," Phillip held a slight furrowed brow himself, but it was more of confusion than worry. "How are we all going to fit in there?"

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In the end, Phillip – being the smallest of all of them – ended up sitting in the lap of Hoben. Though Robert imagined it would be rather uncomfortable for both of them, they didn't seem to mind at all. Rather they seemed comforted by the close proximity. The youngest and the oldest, Bee had to guess. A lot of things had to be on their minds.

He couldn't blame them. A lot of things were on his mind too.

When they arrived to the police station, they all got out of the car in silence. They walked to the doors in some unspoken agreement; the brothers would see their next-to-youngest brother one last time. Chris Johns met them at the entrance, just nodded once before he led all of them inside. They split up with another nod; Joe and Robert went to the laboratory to find Peter, and Chris would take the four men to the police's head crime scene medical examiner's – also known as the morgue.

It was all so quiet amongst them.

Just as they entered the hallway that led to the laboratories – which wasn't that far away from the morgue – Bazz' phone rang one more time. The superior took it with a tired sigh.

"Bazz here," he almost grumbled before he winced a little, grimacing. "No, sir… Yes… No, we haven't found anything yet, sir… I understand, sir, but… Of course not, but they volunteered…" Joe visibly winced again. "Steven's little brother, sir, it may not be FBI matter, but it's still…" He sighed. "Please Orian, just give them a little more time to come up with something… Yes… Hopefully… Thank you, sir." Then he hung up. "Boy, am I not on Myers' top ten," he mumbled, running a hand through his black hair.

"Not liking the slow progress?" Robert asked curiously.

"Not liking FBI joinin' everyday police matters," Joe corrected with a shrug, "'Specially not Peter an' Radovan being here and not workin' back at the facility. He gave a bit o' time, though."

"So we will have to find something fast?"

"Exactly."

"Stressful."

"True," Joe huffed as he opened the door to the laboratory.

The lab was fairly sized, held in white and silver colors – how most laboratories look like in typical movies and shows – though a couple of cabins was made of wood, hence the light, slightly yellow, brown. The lab was separated in two rooms. The front, where Joe and Robert had just stepped in, held mostly computers and other kind of non-analysis things. The other room, separated by glass, looked like the shut off kind of place; probably holding all the stuff that shouldn't get exposed to random germs. The two people inside the 'non-germ' room were also pretty packed up in white lab coats, one-time-use face masks, hair covers, and blue gloves. Even if Robert knew the two in there, he wouldn't be able to see who it was underneath all that.

In the front room, however, he recognized Dr. Peter Collins, standing by a desk, talking to a man sitting in a chair facing him. The man Robert didn't know looked somewhat angry or annoyed, scowling at both the computer which spewed gibberish – at least to Robert – and at Peter. Collins looked like he at just stepped out from the analysis room, with the facemask down around his neck and working on getting the gloves off.

The other man was older than Peter, and Robert guessed him around the same age – maybe older – as Orian Myers, around the early/mid-forties. Though, by further study, he could be older than that; he looked like he had already seen too much. The short, black hair was graying near his temples and the dark eyes seemed to hold a permanent scowl.

What surprised Robert the most though, was the angry, perplexing, quick-paced language the other man was talking – if not yelling – to Peter.

"_Jaký činit tebe mít v úmyslu_ 'unknown composition'," the man suddenly shifted to English, in an apparent mocking tone; imitating something Peter had said. "_To je nemožné! Nikdo prostě vytvoří nový lék! Nemožné!_"

To which the doctor only sighed despondently_, "_I realize that you are upset, but I would much prefer if you could speak English, Radovan._"_

So that was Radovan, the man Robert had heard quite a lot of – but nothing about – in the past few hours. But that really didn't explain the strange language. He couldn't quite pinpoint where it was from.

"No one just creates a new composition," Radovan growled annoyed, still with a tint of an accent. "It is ridiculous! It demands enormous amount of time, energy and money! And not getting discovered until now?!" he ended with a splutter, showing his clear disdain to whatever they were talking about. The unknown drug, most likely.

"We will figure it out, Radovan. Relax or you will end up at the wrong end of the examination table because of a heart attack," Peter said nonchalantly. Radovan just snorted, not looking amused at all.

"Yeah, be nice, Doc." Joe smirked as he made their presence known to the two doctors, who turned in slight surprise. "And keep to English or ya'll scare the newbie."

'The newbie' glared at his supervisor, giving his best sarcastic 'oh, thank you for that' look. Radovan raised an eyebrow at the youngest in the room, but said nothing.

"Robert, Dr. Radovan Cech," Joe introduced, "Doc, Robert Bee."

Radovan grumbled something that could _possibly_ be a greeting, before directing his gaze back to the computer. Bee furrowed his brow, not remembering reading the strange man's file, and something was sort of bugging him.

"What…" he hesitated, glancing to Bazz. "He is…?"

Luckily, Joe picked up his query. "Doc's Czech." And seeing the question in Bee's eyes he continued; "But American citizen. Born here. It was his parents who taught him his native language." Because you had to be an American citizen to join the FBI.

"Oh," Robert just hummed. He really had to read the file. Interesting language, he thought.

"So, Peter, Radovan, what've ya found?" Bazz asked, walking forward and studying the screen with text he probably understood nothing about.

"Nothing!" Cech exclaimed furiously, throwing his arms up in aggravation. "We have found nothing! It does not make sense! _Nic_!"

Peter sighed, "We are not making progress on the drug," he said, before walking over to some scans set up on a light board on the wall, waving the agents along. "But we have been able to determine, from the scans, that before death, certain parts of the shooter's brain were acting out of whack."

"'Out of whack'? Care ta elaborate?" Joe asked with a raised eyebrow.

Peter pointed at the scans – of the brain, obviously – and pointed to three areas of the scans. Since the person scanned was dead, the scans themselves were darker than normal, but Robert could still make out the three areas and see that they did seem 'out of whack' in comparison to the other parts.

"The thalamus, the basal ganglia and a little of the tectum are affected," he said, showing the three areas in turn. "Other areas too, but those mostly."

Apparently, Peter expected them to know what he was talking about. Robert side-glanced to Joe as to confirm that he wasn't the only one who had no idea what those areas meant.

"Peter." Joe did sound like he had lost his patience with techno-talk, and it didn't seem like the first time that had happened, because Collins frowned in put-on annoyance.

"The thalamus is a collection of nuclei with diverse functions, like relaying sensation, special sense, and motor signal to the cerebral cortex, which is mostly memory, attention, thought, etcetera. Also, the thalamus regulates consciousness, sleep and awareness along with the cerebral cortex. Basal ganglia, strongly connected to thalamus and cerebral cortex among others, is mainly about action selection, motor control and learning. And with tectum I mean visual processing and eye movement. "

Bazz exhaled a short breath, one he seemed to have been holding. Bee couldn't blame him; he had had to keep close attention to follow the doctor himself.

"Which means what ta the situation?"

"That Grant was under the influence of a strong drug."

Robert jumped a little in surprise; he hadn't heard the older man move from the chair up behind the two agents, which was either embarrassing for Robert or impressive done by Radovan.

"That he had no idea what he was doing," the man continued. "That he had every idea what he was doing. That it awoke anger, bloodlust, fear, happiness… We don't know!" He sounded anything but pleased.

"But we will figure it out," Peter sounded more hopeful than his colleague. "We have to. It is our best clue for know."

"Yeah, well, ya better hurry up," Joe said with a furrowed brow. "Orian ain't giving us forever an' the police's gonna close the case too, soon."

"Great," Radovan grumbled annoyed, turning around and walked back to the computer with an angry mumble; "_Spěch nás, proč ne. Dá lepší výsledek._"

Peter rubbed a temple, looking as displeased as Cech sounded. So now they just had to find something to keep the case going.

"Doctor, can you give me details about the crime scene, the shooter, about anything, really," Robert requested. Both Peter and Joe looked slightly puzzled at first, though a bulb seemed to light above Bazz' head.

"Right," he half-grinned to Peter, "give the kid every detail you've got." With the furrowed brow the older agent received from the doctor, he continued; "He's got photographic memory. Anythin' could help."

Peter stared a little at the younger one, "Photographic memory? Really?" Unknowingly repeating the exact same thing Joe had said. "That's… most intriguing. How much to you remember, exactly?"

Robert was pretty sure it could have turned into a full questioning and examination – judging by the 'scientific gleam' he saw in the other's eyes – if Joe hadn't sighed a "Peter…" to get the scientist on the correct track.

"Right, details," he mumbled, stalking over to a silver desk with a bunch-load of papers and reports.

"The lacerations on the wrists, on both the shooter and one of the victims, were confirmed to come from robes, since we found one or two fibers we could analyze. Both men slightly malnourished. The drug's entry hole was in the crook of the elbow; we also found tiny traces of the drug in the unidentified victim, though dozen of entry holes – possibly drug addict. We've examined all bullets, but one, to fit the gun, 9mm Beretta, as I told you before; we should get the last bullet's result, the one killing the shooter, back from analyze soon. We have no eye witnesses to the shooting, no unknown vehicle was found or seen near the time of the crime…" Peter trailed off, starting to both read and trying to remember the smallest of details. "Nine bullets missing from a full magazine, thus matching the shots… The white oriental-looking jacket was ripped; missing some fabric around the edge, but the holes where square, seemingly controlled and was therefore not associated with assault…"

But Robert had stopped listening. "Nine bullets missing? You sure?" He couldn't help it if he sounded a little eager, a little hopeful.

"Absolutely certain," Peter confirmed mystified.

"But that can't be right…" the younger agent mumbled to himself, eyes averting to the floor as he thought hard. "Because there was…" and he fell silent again, unwittingly keeping the curios, impatient men in the room waiting for an answer, a clue in the case.

"Robert…" Joe sounded tentatively, like he didn't want to break whatever stream of thoughts the younger one was following, but still he couldn't just stand there and wait.

"I'll have to confirm it," Robert said as he looked up, the hint of a smile on his lips. "Bazz, we have to go back to the crime scene, but pass by the police armory first. If I'm right… Collins, call us when you get the analysis back from the last bullet. It might be the first new clue…" he trailed off again, turning on his heel and headed for the door. He vaguely saw Joe shrug to the two scientists before following, but barely noticed it when they met Chris in the doorway, the redhead looking like he had been through mental hell and back again. Having introduced a body to four brothers…

He heard Radovan mumble "_Co to sakra?_" before they left for the armory.

————————————————————————

Chris drove the car as the three agents headed for the crime scene, with Joe in the passenger seat and Robert sitting on the backseat, now with an unloaded M9 Beretta in his hand and the magazine in an ammo pocket in his suit. He recalled the crime scene again and again, as they had walked in to the people-filled alleyway. He remembered the tiniest of details, something he hadn't thought of before. But if he was right… they had to redo the whole base of the case!

"Robert, stop holdin' in on us," Joe said, turning in the seat to look at the younger one. "And ya ain't gonna ask us ta wait, 'cus that's stupid. I'll make it an order if ya don't spill."

Robert looked into the hazel eyes of his superior – the sunglasses had been off for some time – holding back a grin. He was absolutely thrilled to be able to help a case with his memory, truly delighted – though he did wish it had been under better circumstances. "It's all in the last bullet, Bazz. They should have checked the last bullet first."

"Why should they—" Joe began but Robert cut him off.

"Ah, we're here!" he said, just as Chris parked by the empty sidewalk, near the yellow 'crime scene' tape. The younger one had left the car in mere seconds, leaving a very not amused Joe behind, the superior growing tired of the guessing game.

Bee walked into the abandoned alleyway, which was once again dark without the projectors, and scanned the right wall. The blood had been washed away, and there was only residue of white paint that had marked where the bodies had been. Robert didn't really need that; he could remember it all fairly well. He knelt by the wall as Joe and Chris entered, taking out the Beretta magazine from his pocket, and pulled one of the bullets out. Carefully, hearing his two supervisors walk up behind him, he fitted the bullet snugly into a hole in the redbrick wall.

"A bullet hole," Robert breathed, taking the bullet out again. "There was no bullet in or under it, I thought the police had taken it as evidence."

He stood, the enthusiasm of his discovery leaving as he processed what it actually meant, the gravity of the whole thing sweeping over him. The two other agents didn't talk, seeing that Robert was far into his discovery.

"Bazz, Johns, could you…" he didn't need to say anymore, he just waved vaguely in the direction of some residue white paint. The two wordlessly walked to where the two worst shot victims had been found. Robert walked to where they had found Grant.

"He stood here," Robert mumbled to himself, facing his two supervisors, "with a gun." He raised the unloaded gun…

_XXXXXX_

_A man stood, with a raised gun. His body shook with fear, weariness and because of a drug. Two men stood, frozen. One body on the ground._

_A never-ending mantra left the man with the gun, "No no no no no…"_

_The loose white and beige clothes didn't hide the shaking, the gun trembling along._

_'Don't want to die, don't want to die, don't want to die…'_

_He quickly wiped a sleeve over his eyes, drying away the tracks of tears underneath, never lowering the quivering gun._

_"No no no no no…"_

_His body felt like he had been running, energy rushing through him first, then leaving him utter drained before returning. His vision blurry shortly, periodic. The dark alleyway already hard to see._

_He couldn't stop his body's shuddering._

_One man sneered. "He can't do it."_

_He shot once, missing by far. Not even knowing if it was on purpose._

_XXXXXX_

Robert lowered the gun. He stopped trying to visualize the crime. He couldn't really do that, because he only knew one thing; "Which mean…"

"The last bullet possibly wasn't from his gun…" Chris continued, surprised by himself.

Robert nodded.

"He was shot."

————————————————————————

_Translations (though I don't really feel I should give you these). Mind you, it's all done by online translator:_

_Jaký činit tebe mít v úmyslu – What do you mean_

_To je nemožné! Nikdo prostě vytvoří nový lék! Nemožné! – It is impossible! No one just creates a new drug! Impossible!_

_Nic – Nothing_

_Spěch nás, proč ne. Dá lepší výsledek – Rush us, why don't you. Will give better result. (Sarcastic, obviously)_

_Co to sakra? – What the hell?_

_A/N: FBI is now officially the longest fic, no longer Blood Brothers. And sorry for the delay, school is eating a lot of my time._

_I simply love the idea of Radovan speaking Czech. It's such a beautiful sounding language. Try hearing Radek Zelenka from Stargate Atlantis. He's Czech._

_Introducing my OCs Ulrik Sorenson and Oten Klans… Uh, my dead OCs… What, I couldn't just kill some loved character like that, giving them so little reason of being… Grant is mourned, the other two are probably forgotten soon._

_Now, DitzyMusicLover came with a great idea to give people some time to guess char.s before putting up a list. So now, I will give you a list of some of the mains:_

_Robert Bee – Bumblebee_

_Joe Bazz – Jazz_

_Chris Johns – Cliffjumper_

_Orian Myers – Optimus_

_Peter Collins – Perceptor_

_Grant Adrian – Groove_

_That's all you'll get for now. Keep guessing! Oh, and did you like the tiny insight into the moment of the crime? Do review!_


	6. Get a Grip

**FBI**

**Chapter six: Get a Grip**

_Warning: A tiny bit of foul language, not much. And there be mentioned rhinos, beware!_

* * *

I didn't take long after the theory had been vented for the three-man team to receive a call from a very excited Dr. Collins.

"_The bullet doesn't match the gun!_" he had told them, being the optimistic doctor, while the negative doctor – Radovan – had mumbled in the background that all evidence still pointed at Grant to have shot the other three.

But at least, Joe had said, it was advancement in the case, a positive clue.

After the crime scene visit, the three of them had turned their noses to return to the police station, but halfway there Orian had called again and had demanded a briefing, report or just something, for the case to keep going.

So they had returned to 'headquarters' to brief the Assistant Director, who Robert thought didn't seem all too happy, but still fairly calm and open-minded, even if it was only Bazz who got to enter the office. The two young men would have to wait for them to finish the briefing.

So there they sat, in silence, waiting for their superior to return. Robert Bee and Chris Johns didn't really have much to talk about, to be honest, thus the silence. Chris seemed deep in his own grumbling thoughts, resting quite heavily in the chair, giving off the aura of 'touch me and they won't find your body'. Wisely enough, Robert didn't talk; he just sat in his own chair, flipping through a random report that lay on the desk they were currently occupying.

It had been quite a first day, he thought, and even if it wasn't finished yet it was lacking towards its end. The promise of a soft bed and warm covers almost made him sleepy right there and then. He absentmindedly rubbed the back of his head again, happy to not feel any forthcoming headache, though he could fell the bump. Not good first impression neither he nor Blaze had made. But it was how it was, how the situation had played out, and how he would probably meet many, many others. With bad news.

It wasn't really ideal, but it was only one side of the job. The other was about saving and securing life, putting bad guys away in prison – or at least capture them and provide the evidence, the rest was up to the lawyers.

Robert sighed softly, closing the report as it had nothing of interest – it was actually an older closed case. Honestly, he was a little bored. Joe and Orian took their time discussing the case, Bazz probably asking for more time, Orian thinking otherwise.

"I need to get outta here…" Johns suddenly grumbled quietly, looking as bored as Robert felt. His hands were deep in his pockets as he glanced in the general direction of Myers' office. "As soon as this case pauses I'm going running."

It was probably meant for himself, but Robert couldn't help but ask, "You mean parkour?"

Chris stared shortly, and for a second Robert was worried that he shouldn't have talked, but the redhead just shrugged lightly, mumbling a "Yeah."

And so, the conversation died out, silence stretching awkwardly. They really didn't have much to talk about, but Robert still wished to make proper contact. "So… Think I can come?"

Chris stared at the younger man again, this time looking slightly amused. "If you can keep up."

"Of course I can. You'll see."

"Sure," the redhead drawled, sounding anything but convinced. Bee just raised an eyebrow.

The door to Orian's office creaked slightly as Joe stepped out, rubbing the back of his neck while caught up in his own thoughts. The superior didn't look pleased, but neither did he look defeated, so Robert guessed they had gotten some more time… together with a rant, possibly.

Chris straightened a little in the chair. "We're good?" he asked the older man as he neared the table. Joe made an unhappy grumbling sound, running a hand through his black hair.

"For now, a' least," he mumbled as he pulled up a third chair and sat down heavily. "Orian gave us, like, two more days or sumthing ta come up wit' anythin' vital."

"It's not gonna be enough…" Johns stated with a sigh, slumping in his own chair. "Damn police's probably going to close the case soon."

"Maybe we should stay positive," Robert cut in with a shrug. "I mean, Collins and Cech are on the case, they could come up with something. They're good, right?" All he received was two huffed agreements from two rather grumpy supervisors.

And thus, the next two hours passed in rather disconcerting silence. The three of them had been ordered to stay at the facility for now, not that they really had anywhere else to go or anything to help with.

Then, two hours and twenty minutes since they had arrived, it was like Robert's two supervisor ended a non-existing argument, because Joe suddenly sighed like he gave up on something and nodded to Chris, who in response almost lurched out of the chair, waving Bee along as he walked to the personal lockers. Confused, Bee glanced back to Joe who just grinned widely and gave a nod to the younger one. So Robert stalked after Chris.

"You got some proper sneakers?" Chris asked as he was elbow deep in his own messy locker, looking for the other half of his training suit, and at the same time trying to keep random stuff from falling out – was that a video camera?

"Oh…" Robert just uttered, finally getting what was going on. Apparently Joe had allowed Chris to go for a run. And Chris had dragged the newest along. "For running, sure… for parkour, not so sure…"

"Lemme have a look," the redhead said as he dragged himself out of the locker, pulling along a red t-shirt. Robert opened his own locker – which, in comparison to Chris', was quite tidy – and took out his trainers. Chris threw the red t-shirt unto a pile on a bench, which already encompassed his black, loose pants and a pair of, what looked like, brand-new trainers before taking Robert's shoes, studying them shortly.

"You'll do fine," Chris said, handing them back. "Now get changed. Light and loose clothing and meet me outside."

* * *

The pounding of their feet against concrete resonated throughout the quiet street. It was getting late, and a little darker, so there weren't many people up and around. A few cars passed, sometimes the two of them passed a couple chatting away, one time they had scared the crap out of a homeless cat.

Chris led Robert in an easy to follow jog, which had surprised the younger blonde because he sort of expected them to be running around on buildings. But the redhead did seem to be looking for something, glancing inside alleyways and up at building roofs.

Robert had found a yellow t-shirt, black tracking pants and Johns had handed him a belt with a small mobile phone holder with just enough room to hold a smaller radio; standard equipment to keep on you at all times – if not the radio than at least the phone.

Chris was wearing a red t-shirt and black pants – not quite tracking pants, more like material art style, loose pants. He also had a belt, and Robert had seen him stick a small map in one pocket. What they needed a map for, the blonde one didn't know.

Chris suddenly slowed down even more, before grinning over his shoulder to Robert, who just studied him confused. "See if you can keep up," was all the redhead said before he explosively sprinted down a darker alleyway, full speed. Bee didn't even have time to make a sound if he had to keep up.

The sounds from the street seemed to mute as they ran through the darkness. Robert did his best to keep up with the redhead, following close in his heels and – learning that after the first container Chris had practically jumped over – imitating the movements. He managed not to stumble so bad when Chris took a leaping jump over a rubbish bin and he followed suit. They turned once, twice, still within a network of dark alleys, running like they had rhinos in hot pursuit. Then Johns appeared to disappear right in front of Bee's eyes. Johns had jumped up on a rubbish bin, used that as a step to get up on a larger green garbage container and he had jumped from there. Robert stopped on the container, a bit surprised to see Johns now crawling up a fire escape ladder. It wasn't so much the surprise of the change of course as it was the simple jump Chris had made; he hadn't collided with the lowermost ladder – that didn't touch the tarmac – but simply latched onto it, before taking it up in leaps. He barely even made a sound.

Glancing up again, Robot sighed and stepped as far back as he could on the container before running forward, jumping and—

He collided with the ladder with an "oomph", quickly grapping it so he wouldn't fall down. Nowhere near as gracefully as Chris made it look. Taking a rather shaky breath, he felt quite sure that a scan would reveal a cracked rib or two. Or maybe he was just fussing, he thought as he looked up and through the grates of the several storey fire escape ladder, to see Chris lean over the railing, almost at the top, looking down at Robert with a raised eyebrow.

"Son of a…" Robert trailed off, before he took another deep breath and followed the agent upwards in his best speed.

It was brighter up on the roof than it had been in the alleyways. Up there, the lights of the streets and windows seemed to reach better. It was calm, the sounds of the cars were barely reaching, and though a bit chilling, it was pleasant when running.

Bee saw Johns stand on the edge of two connected buildings, grinning mischievously to the blonde over his shoulder before he jumped down the lower roof and kept running to the next.

Bee followed.

For a long time, the two of them were sprinting, jumping, stumbling, leaping, drawing in air breathlessly, grinning in rivalry, Robert cursing, trying to keep up, but Chris was always in front. Then they jumped to a roof which wasn't the usual less than one meter near any other roofs. Robert scanned for another ladder, finding none, and guessing that this was probably their goal. Finally.

But the redhead didn't stop. Rather he sped up, running towards the edge.

"Johns?" Robert called out, not stopping himself. Johns didn't even look back.

They kept running, closer and closer to the edge.

Johns reached it, foot barely touching the tiny brick partition that framed the roof… and he jumped.

"Chris?!" the blonde yelled horrified. He skittered to a stop at the edge, staring, just in time to see the redhead land heavily on an unseen roof and roll one time before standing up. Fourteen to sixteen feet away and one – if not two – storey lower there had been a roof; one Robert hadn't been able to see.

Chris turned, grinning widely up to Robert. "Couldn't keep up?"

The youngest exhaled a breath he didn't know he had been holding, letting both his hands run through his sweaty hair, covering his eyes shortly. "Christ…" he muttered, getting over the shock, before retorting; "Did you have to scare the bejeezus out of me, you sick bastard?"

"Hell yeah!" Chris just grinned back wickedly. Well, Robert should almost have expected that. "You're not gonna jump?"

Yeah right, sure… Robert thought, rolling his eyes, leaning over to stare on the street far below. Yep, that was defiantly fall-down-and-you're-dead height. The few people down there looked small, though it was surprising there was only so few. Two men stood halfway inside a dark alleyway – however Bee could clearly see them from where he stood – and were talking seriously, judging on the arm movements, one wearing a dark red jacket, the other a blue. A grey cat was scrambling around in a rubbish bin not far away from them, and an old man was walking his tiny dog on the other side of the street.

Robert liked his good eyesight.

"I think I'll pass this time," he said, glancing back to Johns who merely shrugged.

"You'll get here eventually."

"Sure I will…" the blonde said with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, I'll go home in any case. You're free to stand there and ponder all night or take the stairs."

"Go home as in walk, or are you going to leap off more buildings?"

"You will never know, will you?" Chris huffed, but he simply walked to a conveniently placed ladder. "See you tomorrow," he said before taking the ladder down.

Robert sighed; still a little shaken, and combined with the fading adrenalin rush the weak wind didn't feel all that pleasant anymore. He turned around to find his own ladder down so he could walk home without jumping from building to building.

* * *

The colors were swirling, mixing in an odd sense of calm before the storm, drowning, saving, blessing, killing. There were people, walking around in the nothingness of every possible color. There was an old man walking where there walked no other, coughing harshly into the crook of his elbow. In front of the old man walked a boy, with his mother, sniffing sadly. Young men, the sound of a basketball.

_--, --, --_

Two white clad men, talking an incomprehensible language. A man walking a dog.

_--ep, --ep, --ep_

Jet black hair, different color jackets, talking in secrecy.

_Beep, beep, beep_

Jumping off a building.

Robert Bee awoke with a yell, sitting up in the bed, still half-tangled in the sheets, heart pounding. Startled, he tried to cut through the sleepy haze in his mind. It didn't take him long to realize it had been a dream, a confusing one at that, and he ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. His forehead was sweaty, even though the usually warm bed felt chillingly cold.

_Beep, beep, beep_

Robert groaned, grabbing blindly for the mobile phone that was ringing obnoxiously, lying on the nightstand. He rubbed the bridge of his nose at the same time, trying to rid the odd dream of his mind. "No more curry before bed…"

_Beep, beep, beep_

"Yes yes, for God's sake, I hear you…" he grumbled as he finally found the phone. He started at it shortly, wondering why in the world he had chosen the sound of an alarm clock as the ringtone, before answering. "Robert Bee…"

"_Gezz, didya take yar time or what, Bee…_" was all he received from the other end.

"Bazz, sir," Robert answered, rubbing the side of his head now. Dear God, it was too early for this… "If you don't mind me asking, why are you calling this early?"

"_This early?_" Joe repeated with a chuckle, "_It's six thirty in the mornin', man. We're meetin' in one hour 'n' a half._"

Robert glanced at his alarm clock – the damn thing that was supposed to wake him to begin with – and it was 6:30, truthfully. He really should have realized that it was actually morning, since the sun did manage to get some sunlight through the blinds, into the messy New York apartment.

"My point still standing…" Bee said, scratching the blond hair drowsily. Whatever he had dreamed he had forgotten by now, and he decided he might as well get up and eat some breakfast.

"_Not much of a mornin' person, huh?_" Robert heard Bazz say, as he got himself un-tangled from the sheets. He lazily began pushing discarded clothes out of the way as he moved to the closet, intending to find the loosest t-shirt to wear while he got ready for work – Robert slept in grey pajama-like pants only, and rarely ever got into his working suit before he had to go out of the door. "Nope," he answered his supervisor as he pulled out a white t-shirt.

"_Did ya an' Chris run fo' a long time?_"

"Not really." Nah, the white one tended to feel scratchy in the morning.

"_Chris jumped off tha buildin', didn' he?_" Joe sounded amused.

Robert stifled a sigh, "For a matter of fact, he did. If you knew, a little warning could have been nice…"

"_Arh, you're no fun._"

Bee only huffed in respond, finding the t-shirt he was looking for, though two hands would be nice at that moment. "Sir, why did you call again?" he asked tiredly.

"_Well, we'll be meetin' a lot earlier, we got new leads an' the Bureau's officially takin' the case. And don' call me sir, I don' do the sir thin'._"

"We are taking it? Why now, all of a sudden?" Robert asked confused, forgetting about the t-shirt.

"_They found 'nother body. One that died some days 'go from an overdose o' an unknown drug._"

Robert began to get his suit out of the closet without another word.

* * *

_A/N: Ahaha… I left you hanging… sorry 'bout that. Please don't kill me *runs to hide* You get shirtless Robert Bee, so don't kill meeee!_

_Hoped you like this – not as eventful - chapter. And by the way; arh, I hate it when I discover mistakes in earlier chapters!_

_Here's the new short list of who's who:_

_Phillip Adrian – First Aid_

_Hoben Spiro Adrian – Hot Spot_

_Steven West Adrian – Streetwise_

_Blaze Adrian – Blades_

_Mike Allard – Mirage_

_There we go… Next chapter will promise new characters and some you've probably all been waiting for 8D (A lot have been guessing, in any case)._


End file.
